


The Journey Itself

by Daegaer



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, First Time, Friendship, Growing Up, M/M, Psychic Abilities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-15
Updated: 2009-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-15 00:40:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2209158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nagi finds that leaving Rosenkreuz happens in stages.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Journey Itself

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my tireless betas, [](http://toscas-kiss.livejournal.com/profile)[**toscas_kiss**](http://toscas-kiss.livejournal.com/) and [](http://puddingcat.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://puddingcat.livejournal.com/)**puddingcat**! 
> 
> Thank you also to [](http://puddingcat.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://puddingcat.livejournal.com/)**puddingcat** for her beautiful illustration.
> 
> _Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home_ \- Matsuo Basho

Nagi recognizes Crawford, but not the young man with him, green hair caught back under a kerchief, wide mouth smiling sardonically.

"Herr Crawford has requested special permission for your early release from the training programme," Michaela says. "If you work out well, your assignment will be extended. You'll have to finish your training at another time, of course."

Nagi ignores her. Michaela's nothing but a burnt out telepath who's lucky if she so much as picks up cable when she switches her TV on. She doesn't merit enough respect even to call her _Ma'am_. His attention is firmly on the two men who've come for him. The green haired man is eyeing Michaela and trying not to laugh – great. Another fucking telepath.

"Hello, Nagi," Crawford says, bending over a little. Nagi remembers him hunkering down, making his height not so intimidating to a scared ten-year-old boy. He holds a hand out coolly to be shaken. He's not ten any more.

"Herr Crawford," he says, not politely, not rudely, as neutral as he can.

"Just Crawford," Crawford corrects him, ignoring Michaela's little _tsk_ of disapproval. "This is Schuldig."

"Hey," Schuldig says, off-hand. "I love what you've done with this place," he says to Michaela, looking round the reception room. She ignores him and his grin widens.

"If the paperwork is ready?" Crawford says, and takes the clipboard she hands over. He signs form after form, and hands it back. Nagi doesn't sign anything – he's the item for delivery and no one expects a parcel to sign for itself. "Let's go," Crawford says then, his quick glance including Nagi and Schuldig in that order. "We're done here."

Nagi picks up the black bin liner containing the few items that are his. His uniforms are left for laundry to pick up, ready for the next boy too small for his age to don. He feels underdressed in the cheap jeans and t-shirt bought in some supermarket, and is resentful that he was forced to seem grateful for being allowed to keep his underwear and trainers.

"Is that all you have?" Schuldig asks.

Nagi shrugs. There's no point in discussing his lack of possessions. He forces himself to carry the bag casually, naturally, as if his life to date isn't refuse being discarded.

"Want me to carry it?"

He shakes his head, and follows Crawford down the hall and out into the chill spring morning. There are another few people hanging round, waiting for transport to the station. Nagi doesn't want to admit to weakness, but after a few minutes he has to dig in his bag and pull out the cheap and nasty sweatshirt he was given. It's too big, but he feels warmer immediately. It's a relief when the minibus pulls up and they can climb in. He finds himself sandwiched between Schuldig and a girl in her late teens, also clutching a black bin liner. No one says anything during the entire trip. After the first twenty minutes, Nagi finds himself nodding off in the warmth of the van. He fights it at first, but the driver has the heat turned up high and Nagi was too stressed to sleep at all the previous night. He should take off the sweatshirt, he thinks, as his eyes drift closed.

"Wakey-wakey," someone says in his ear.

Nagi opens his eyes and blinks in confusion. There are lots of people around, buildings on either side – damn.

"What time is it?"

"Twelve thirty," Schuldig says. "You slept the whole way."

"Like a baby," the girl mutters.

Nagi very deliberately presses his gift down on her foot, concentrating on as small an area as he can. Her bitten-off gasp makes him feel better; he's longing for a fight.

"Now now, kids," Schuldig says. "We're here, no time for arguments."

The minibus pulls into the station's set down area and stops. Within moments everyone is unloaded, and the bus pulls off, vanishing in the lunchtime traffic. The other adults and the girl walk away, not to be seen again.

"We have forty minutes till our train," Crawford says. "It's going to be delayed."

"At least we can get some lunch," Schuldig says. "That place across the street?" Without waiting for confirmation he adds, "I'll be there in a minute or two. Take my bag, would you?" He tosses the bag to Crawford, who catches the handles without even looking.

Nagi wonders at first if Schuldig wants to get rid of them, and has just passed a bomb to Crawford. Then he reasons that Crawford's response was born of both precognition and long habit, as if he is used to suddenly having holdalls thrown his way by subordinates. Crawford would foresee trouble if it really was a bomb, Nagi thinks, then in irritation he wonders why Schuldig doesn't just use the toilets in the café. He heads after Crawford obediently. The café is emptying as they enter, the staff looking a little bemused as customers pay up quickly and go.

"Schuldig likes this place, don't ask me why," Crawford says as he sits. "He always makes sure we can get a table. Thank you," he says as the waitress hands them menus. "Order whatever you want, Nagi."

Nagi tears into his salad and cheese sandwich when they arrive. He's hungrier than he thought. He's almost finished when Schuldig comes in, carrying a large white carrier bag, flops into a seat and smiles winningly at the waitress.

"Let me see," Schuldig muses, turning to the back of the menu. "Some Black Forest Cake of course, and then . . ." He looks up and grins at Nagi's face. "I like to start with dessert," he says, and goes on to order more cakes and pastries than Nagi has ever seen one person eat. When the waitress goes, giggling, Schuldig produces the carrier bag, and hands it over to Nagi. "This is for you," he says. "I know I felt like shit when I first left that place. The other stuff might be useful to you."

Nagi peers inside. There's a lightweight red-and-black check-patterned holdall, and a few toiletries and a toothbrush. He looks up at Schuldig suspiciously – what will be demanded in return? Schuldig is too busy joyously clasping his hands together like a little kid as his cakes arrive to notice. He takes a bite of a fruit filled pastry and sighs happily. _No strings attached, kid_ , a voice says in Nagi's mind, and Schuldig pushes an excess doughnut over towards him.

After a few seconds, Nagi takes a bite. It's delicious.

 

* * *

 

 

Nagi wakes up at 5.30 every morning to make his bed and tidy his already tidy room. Everything is spotless, nothing is out of place. No one ever looks at his room, past one time Crawford peered in to call him to lunch and nodded approvingly, but it's a routine he's been in for the past three years, and he can't seem to stop. Once his room is perfect he does sit ups and push ups for half an hour, then showers and goes to the kitchen at 6.45 precisely. On days there's work to do Crawford will already be there, and Schuldig will straggle in at 7.00. On days they aren't required to work neither of them sets foot outside their rooms before 7.30. Nagi tries to find things to keep himself occupied, even if it's only reading some of the magazines the others buy. It's good practice for his English, though he wishes he hadn't succumbed to temptation and read the porn magazine left unguardedly one morning on the sofa arm. He put it back in precisely the same place, and cursed the presence of a telepath in advance. Schuldig didn't say a word, though Nagi couldn't stop thinking about the pictures all day.

One morning he wakes up after a job that kept them all up till 3am. It takes a few moments for the numbers on his clock to register, and then he leaps out of bed, heart hammering. It's 11.45. He looks round in despair at the clothes he just let drop on the floor the previous night before collapsing into bed, and bundles them together to fling messily into his laundry basket. He makes the bed, then remembers he meant to turn the mattress this week, and rips the sheets and blankets off it again. Thank God for telekinesis, he thinks, as the mattress flips over. Another few minutes and the bed is properly made. He peers out the door – all clear – and runs for the bathroom, hoping his shocking lateness can somehow go unnoticed. He has grown used to more lengthy, comfortable showers in the last two months, but now he just dashes under the water and out again three minutes later, as he used to. Combing his wet hair flat, he sees he has a pimple, flaringly red and obvious on his chin.

"Fucking meat," he snarls. Everyone in Rosenkreuz ate a vegetarian diet, in accordance with one of the rules no one ever bothered to question. He'd been shocked by Crawford and Schuldig's easy assumption that it was all right to eat meat, but has grown more or less used to it. Healthy salads from now on, he promises his blemished face, and squeezes the zit experimentally, looking in some horror at his fingers afterwards.

Finally, dry, dressed and chin looking a mess, he slinks into the kitchen to find both Crawford and Schuldig drinking coffee and laughing at some stupid comedy programme on the radio. Neither of them look like they've so much as brushed their hair yet; Crawford is wearing a dressing gown, his bare toes curling round of the struts of the stool he's perched on, while Schuldig is wearing hideous pajamas bedecked with Hello Kitty on the t-shirt top. Nagi wishes he'd never discovered those sorts of thing came in adult male sizes. "I'm sorry I'm late," he says as they look sleepily at him.

"You're not late for anything," Crawford says, half turning away as the toaster on the worktop behind him pops up a bagel. "We don't have to work today."

"You could go back to bed if you wanted," Schuldig says. "I was arguing for letting you sleep at least another hour." He pulls a mug out of the cupboard. "Seeing as you're up: tea or coffee?"

"Coffee," Nagi says. Then, "I can't go back to bed, I've already tidied up my room for inspection." He hates himself for saying it as they exchange a glance, a little amused, a little sympathetic.

"You're in your _home_ ," Schuldig says as Crawford adds,

"I don't think you need that level of supervision any more, do you, Nagi?"

"It shows a lack of discipline to let things get untidy," Nagi says, aware as he says it he is being ridiculous. It isn't as if they keep the apartment in a mess. "And it's just not healthy to eat meat, fat and sugar," he adds. "At least not the amount we've been eating."

Crawford looks distinctly amused as he spreads butter and jam copiously on his bagel. He picks the plate up and strolls out of the room. "I'm going to have breakfast in bed," he says, "And get crumbs on my pillow."

Nagi bridles, not caring that the mug of coffee Schuldig has put out for him ripples as ominously as if his irritation were the heavy, nearing tread of a predator. _I'm not a kid, don't fucking patronize me_ , he thinks, then feels even more irritated at himself. He is a kid. That is the all too clear problem. Schuldig sips from his vulgar, rainbow-striped mug, and watches him, smiling very slightly. Nagi takes a deep breath, picks up his coffee and downs a deep, ungrateful swallow.

"Thanks," he says ungraciously.

"No problem."

They both drink in silence, then Schuldig takes out bowls and packets of cereal, arranging them neatly on the counter. Nagi looked at the boxes, graded in order of size, and rolls his eyes.

"Now you _are_ mocking me."

"Just a bit," Schuldig says. "Look, Nagi, it's not like we don't understand. It's hard to get that place out of your head - it just takes time. You'll be a sloppy, greedy teenager soon enough, don't worry."

" _Thanks_ ," Nagi says with heavy irony, and pours himself a bowl of bran flakes. He can set a good example, he thinks.

"I remember when it really struck home that no one cared about me eating safe, _approved_ food any more," Schuldig says, reaching for the muesli. "I went into a shop and I bought one of every single chocolate bar they had. Then I added a few types of fruit-flavoured sweets and some cream cakes. Then I went into my room and ate the lot."

"I hope you threw up," Nagi says primly.

"Thanks for the sympathy. You bet I did. The next day I came home with only half the amount and that stayed down just fine. After a week or so of that, my face suffered the most lunar of breakouts you can imagine." Schuldig grins at him, like he doesn't care Nagi finds that funny. "After another week of fairly intensive investigation of junk food, I just got bored. Now I can eat it or not."

"Yeah, I remember your restraint when we were waiting for the train," Nagi says dryly.

"I was celebrating," Schuldig says. "It's not every day I get a new teammate. Relax, kid. Eat what you want, it'll all even out in the end. So will your skin."

"Maybe after I buy some industrial strength facial cleanser," Nagi says, just to prove he can laugh at himself. Schuldig's laughter feels like some odd reward, and Nagi lets out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

Tomorrow, he tells himself, you _will_ lie in.

 

* * *

 

After eighteen months on the team, Nagi takes everything in his stride. He doesn't blink an eye at murder or cruelties, and nods approvingly with every step they take towards the new world he has always been promised. Schuldig's hair has gone from green to dirty gold and has finally settled on a vibrant orange he claims is his natural colour. They have gained another teammate, and Nagi sees a certain artistry in his obsessions.

_Don't tell him you're Catholic_ , Schuldig reminds him early on, till they're all used to Farfarello's moods and know how to avoid setting off his lectures on the nature of the divine. Those rarely end well.

"Are you Catholic?" Nagi thinks to ask, eventually.

Schuldig looks at him, then shrugs. "No," he says. "I'm something else." He doesn't elaborate, and eventually Nagi stops waiting for him to continue. He doesn't bother asking Crawford, whom he knows he worships only power. He has better things to think about, like how much Tokyo has changed, or how maybe he never knew much about his home town, seeing as he was a depressed, institutionalized young child when he left it to become a depressed, institutionalized older child in Austria.

"Fuck," Nagi mutters, and knocks over a tree to make himself feel better.

"Hey, quit the horticulture and come in to the meeting," Schuldig calls to him in German.

Nagi smiles meanly at the look on Takatori's face, then obediently joins the others.

"Keep your team under control," Takatori snaps.

Crawford bows, barely enough to be polite. He detests the man, Nagi knows, but orders are orders. Right now, their orders are to stand behind Takatori looking threatening as he yells at his son. It's very boring, and Nagi knows Schuldig is being tormented by a tune in his head because he suddenly has the urge to sing along. Farfarello's foot taps in time with the rhythm, and Crawford looks at the three of them in silent irritation. Schuldig grins. The girl standing behind Takatori's son steps into full view and smiles at him, as sweetly as if she has no idea what they're doing here. Nagi finds his thoughts desert him, and though he manages to keep her out of his mind till they are safely back in their bland, beige apartment, can't stop thinking of her thereafter. It's a warm, happy day when he sees her again.

"Don't do this," Schuldig says, when he finds Nagi amusing her by making the wind dance for her.

"We're probably going to have to kill them," Farfarello murmurs, his gaze distant as if he already sees the blood.

"I know you don't realize, but it's actually quite normal to fancy girls," Nagi says snidely, for sometimes Schuldig forgets to erase his browser history and Nagi knows _exactly_ what his tastes run to. To underline it, he thinks long and hard about Tot's legs under her short little skirt. Schuldig looks at him, the underlying current of amusement gone suddenly as cold and clinical as it is when he picks his victims.

"You really don't know as much as you think," he says. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

Schuldig doesn't seem to hold a grudge, so Nagi forgets to be worried for weeks and months until he pays attention to Crawford's plans. He sits staring vacantly at his computer screen listening to his teammates, his _friends_ laughing about the deaths of people they promised to protect, then he hears Schreient mentioned.

"They have the Fujimiya girl," Crawford says. "We'll pick her up tomorrow."

"Pffft, what if they want to keep her?" Schuldig asks.

"I hope they do," Farfarello says, quiet and yearning. He plays with a stiletto. "Pray they do."

They mean it, Nagi realizes, as the others snort with laughter. He holds himself still and quiet, and doesn't flinch when Schuldig pats his shoulder comfortingly as he leaves the room. After lunch he sits silently in the car as they drive to the house where Schreient are licking their wounds. They have barely entered the hall when Tot runs past them sobbing. Nagi steps back, and again, and turns to run after her.

"Wait - " he hears Schuldig say, and,

"Let him go," from Crawford.

In the field where he made the flowers and wind dance for her, Tot is sobbing bitterly. Nagi creeps up on her and makes the wind swirl round her legs. It distracts her for a moment, but it's not enough, and she looks at him from tear-swollen eyes.

"Stop it, Nagi," she says. "Neu's dead, Tot doesn't want to play."

"I'm sorry," he says.

"Neu, Papa --," she says glumly, then looks at him more sharply than he expects. "Crawford-san said Schwarz can make Papa better - can you bring Neu back to life, too?"

Crawford laughed so much earlier at Schuldig's impersonations of Schreient's gullible hopes that he choked on a cup of coffee. Nagi looks as sorrowfully innocent as he can.

"I'm sorry, I don't think so."

"Then what good _are_ you?" Tot screams in his face, and runs, leaving him alone and shocked silent in the field.

He thinks about it for hours, what he can do to help. He is silent and grave while his team eats with Schreient, and sits eyes downcast as Crawford makes duplicitous plans to fight Schreient's enemies for them. He goes at last upstairs to find Tot, and discovers her sitting by the bedside of the Fujimiya girl Crawford wants them to collect.

"She's all alone and has no friends," Tot says, standing up and smoothing her skirt. She doesn't look at him, her eyes fixed on the girl in the bed.

"Tot, I -"

"Tot's sorry for shouting at you," Tot says, and squeezes his hand as she slips past him. "I have to get ready to fight."

Nagi is left alone, staring at the pale, sick face of the comatose girl. He has to stop Tot; Crawford said Schreient would be wiped out in the coming fight. He'll keep her safe, he thinks. He'll keep her alive.

He searches Tot out later, while the others are busy with preparations to meet the enemy, and have no attention to spare for two missing teenagers. Tot is happily humming, dressed in the silly outfit Masafumi liked her to fight in. Nagi is glad Crawford lied about getting that bastard back - Schuldig gave him a peek into Masafumi's mind once or twice and Nagi has wondered since what the fuck Schreient want him back for. Right now he just takes Tot's hand and pulls her under the trees, away from the security cameras.

"Tot, listen to me," he says. "You can't fight tonight - Crawford's just using you, all of you. He says you'll all die this evening. Promise me you won't fight, promise me you'll stay safe."

She looks at him, absently twirling her umbrella. "Why do you care?" she asks. "You're one of them."

"I care," Nagi says urgently. "I just want you to stay safe, I don't want you to die." It should be a simple, neutral thing to say and yet he feels like he's made an extravagant declaration. Perhaps he has, he thinks, as she smiles at him in a way that makes him uncomfortably happy. She leans forward, invitingly. It takes him a moment to realize she wants him to kiss her, and in his nervousness he misjudges and hits his forehead against her nose.

"Ow," Tot says.

Nagi wonders if he can will himself to die of embarrassment. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, did I hurt you - "

She laughs, a sound that makes her seem decades older in experience, and is against him, kissing him. _Damn_ , Nagi thinks as she slides her tongue into his mouth. He wishes he could do nothing else all his life than stand there and kiss her, but she pulls away and puts a hand over his heart.

"After we get our revenge," she says brightly, "Let's live together, Nagi!" As he stands, dazed and thinking of all the things he'd like to do besides kissing her, she giggles and spins away from him. "See you later!"

He hasn't taken more than a few dozen steps after her when Crawford is there. The slap takes him by surprise, and he clamps down on the instinct to strike back hard. If you get hit, you hit back so hard that no one dares fuck with you again, that's what he learned in Rosenkreuz, but this is _Crawford_.

"Don't interfere!" Crawford says. "Don't mess this up, Nagi. You've been treated like shit by everyone but us - stick with us, and no one can ever do that again."

"Yes," Nagi said, automatically, then, "Yes, Crawford. You know I'm one of Schwarz." He looks in the direction Tot has gone. "But - "

"It's not easy to change the future," Crawford says. He takes a deep breath and looks less angry. "It's not easy when you can _see_ it, and it's worse when you can't. Trust me on this, Nagi. You _will_ regret it if you meddle here."

It's not a threat, just a simple statement of fact, and Nagi wills Crawford to say more, not to be stingy with his knowledge of the future. Crawford just looks down at him, anger replaced by calm as he puts a hand on Nagi's shoulder. Nagi thinks of stories about people trying to avert a promised future and inadvertently bring it about it a worse form. He decides he doesn't give a shit for stories.

During the fight, Nagi meddles as much as he can without attracting Crawford's attention. _It won't count if I don't use my gift_ , he thinks, and flings himself bodily on Tot to deflect an enemy's blow. The sound of a gunshot brings everything to a standstill. Tot gasps as Shoen falls back through a glass panel. Nagi hopes she can't see Crawford standing there, gun in hand, from this angle. Then Schwarz are coming down the stairs, looking bored at the fighting, the Fujimiya girl cradled in Schuldig's arms. Tot struggles to her feet and runs up the stairs.

"No!" she yells, " _We_ need her! Give her back!"

"Get out of the way!" Farfarello shouts, the dagger flung before he's finished speaking.

Tot sways, crumples to her knees, and slides down the stairs to come to rest at Nagi's feet. The dagger is buried to the hilt in her chest. Farfarello takes another couple of steps down.

"Get my knife, would you?" he says casually.

"Tot," Nagi whispers, pulling her into his arms. "Tot, don't die."

"Nagi," she says, in the ghost of a voice. "Nagi -"

He feels her stop. He sees the room as if from a great distance, and wonders why he can't hear anything, who the skinny boy screaming silently and shaking the dead girl in his arms is, who the men backing up the stairs with expressions of alarm are. The boy throws back his head and screams in purest fury; the huge windows shatter inwards, one by one.

Nagi remembers nothing else.

 

* * *

 

 

"Nagi. _Nagi_. God _damn_ it. Come on, wake up, _please_."

There is a hand on his face, and he is being held against someone older and male. Nagi has known from his first day in Rosenkreuz that this means danger, and strikes out as hard as he can. He can't feel properly what he has done, but the man makes a noise like he was kicked in the stomach, and drops him. The ground is wet and muddy, and Nagi slides and slips as he tries to crawl to safety.

" _Fuck_ ," the man says, winded. "Nagi, it's _me_ , it's Schuldig." He pulls Nagi back up and Nagi squints, trying to see through the rain and the dark. It _is_ Schuldig, who has never yet hurt him, so he lets himself be lifted and carried. "Good job you're so worn out," Schuldig says, "I don't want to be on the receiving end of that when you're feeling better, OK?"

There's a car, not Schuldig's bright red one but a four-wheel drive, waiting for them, its headlights on and the engine running. Schuldig puts Nagi in the front passenger seat, on blankets laid ready, and wraps him up. The car's heater is on full-blast.

"You came back," Nagi says, though he's not sure he's said it aloud. That doesn't matter anyway.

"Yeah," Schuldig says. "I came back. Rest."

Nagi peers into the back seat, where another blanket-wrapped bundle is huddled. It's Tot. As he watches, she shifts, a little frown creasing what he can see of her face.

"Jesus," Nagi says.

"So it fucking seems," Schuldig says. "- stay in the dry, for God's sake!"

Nagi struggles out of the blankets and flings himself out of the car and into the back. He strokes her face, feels her breath on his freezing-cold skin. "How -" he asks.

"You tell me," Schuldig says, clipped and freaked out. He tosses the blankets after Nagi. "Wrap up, you're like ice." He gets into the driver's seat and rubs his face hard. Nagi can see he's soaked and filthy, his hair plastered flat against his scalp. "Well, I had to dig you out," Schuldig says, catching the thought. "In the pouring rain at that. God, I need a drink." He drives off, only to stop a hundred yards later. "How the fuck?" he starts, then pauses. "I couldn't find you at first," he said, sounding like he wants to yell. "I found _her_ , wandering round and with not one fucking mark on her. There isn't even a scratch. Then I found you and you looked as dead as she should be -" he pauses again. "You gave me a fright, there," he says in a pale attempt at his usual cheerfulness. "I should have known you'd be too stubborn to let a house falling on you do more than piss you off." He puts the car back into gear and they drive.

"What now?" Nagi says hoarsely.

Schuldig doesn't say anything, then, "I need you to pay attention. She's in shock, she needs a doctor. This is the important bit, Nagi - you can't say anything to Crawford or Farfarello. You know they don't like loose ends."

Nagi tries not to hear what he's saying. He's just got Tot back, and it isn't fair. _Hey_ , Schuldig says right into his mind. _I'm being the good guy, here_. Nagi holds her tight in her cocoon of blankets and buries his face in her wet and dirty hair.

"What are you going to do?" he asks, muffled.

"I know someone," Schuldig says. "She'll be looked after." He says nothing else, just drives. It's an hour later and far too soon that they are back in Tokyo and pulling up to an ordinary house in a non-descript street. Schuldig gets out, and leans on the doorbell till someone answers. Nagi watches him argue with the man standing in the doorway, gesturing back at the car. The man looks over, peering through the rain. He scowls and makes an emphatic gesture. Schuldig pulls out an envelope and hands it over, glowering as the man counts the money inside insultingly slowly. Another brief exchange and Schuldig pulls off his heavy gold watch and hands that over too. It's a good watch and Nagi has never known him not to wear it. He comes back to the car and opens the door.

"I need to take her," he says, and Nagi lets go.

He doesn't start crying till Schuldig has put Tot in the unknown man's arms and the door is closed again. He needs to stop, he thinks. Schuldig has just saved Tot's life.

"I did it for you, not her," Schuldig says, getting back in. He looks exhausted. "Let's go."

"Schuldig?" Something is not right, and Nagi is beginning to think again. "Why did you have that money with you? You expected to find her, didn't you?"

"No," Schuldig says, and meets his eyes in the mirror. "I was looking for you. I was going to give you a chance to get away from us. The money was so that guy'd look after _you_. He's pissed off at getting a sick girl instead, but don't worry, I'll check up. He knows I'd kill him if he cheated me." He buckles the seatbelt and starts the car. "Lie down and rest. I'll get you home safe."

 

* * *

 

Nagi finds it easiest not to make too much eye contact, to stay as quiet as possible. That's not all that much quieter than normal, so he doesn't get too many comments. When he does speak, he finds himself snapping at people. The first time he calls Crawford's beliefs crap to his face he feels guilty, and expects retaliation that doesn't come. After the fourth time, Crawford starts agreeing with him. There isn't much point at snapping at Farfarello, who never seems to understand when people are pissed off with him. Just once, Farfarello looks him over and asks, as if it's an odd question someone has suggested that Martians and teenagers need to hear,

"Do we have a problem?"

"No," Nagi says. He can feel Schuldig's approval from across the room. He doesn't care, he decides. They can all fuck themselves. After a week or two he finds he can't keep that level of anger up, and just wishes someone would talk to him more, but can't find a way to get past his own silence. He can't decide whether it's a blessing or a curse that simply not speaking has never deterred any telepath. Not Schuldig, not anyone. Not in the entire history of unnaturally being able to ferret round in other people's private thoughts.

"Make your mind up," Schuldig says, full of sparkling malice and cheer. "You want to interact with people or you want to sit alone in the dark?"

Nagi wonders if there's some way to combine the activities, and feels very slightly better when Schuldig has to laugh. It's a little embarrassing when Schuldig musses up his hair, like he's comforting a little kid, but Nagi endures it even when Schuldig sits beside him and pulls him into a half hug, his arm tight round Nagi's shoulders.

"Suppose I sit really quietly and watch you play a video game, or hack into a bank, or something?" Schuldig says.

"OK," Nagi says. It's not so bad, being hugged, he thinks.

"And then afterwards you can come and watch me have fun. There's this kid I've found I want to torture - she has the most god-awful crush on Fujimiya. It should be _hilarious_."

"OK," Nagi says again. It cheers him up for long enough to listen to Crawford's plans later that day and to sit back, stunned that Mr Eszett-is-my-life has been working all along to free them from its grasp. _Rosenkreuz_ , he thinks. _Why did he send me there if he wants me out of Eszett?_ Schuldig looks at him, just a quick flicker of his eyes. _You needed training. He thought you were strong enough to take it_ , Nagi hears. He shudders at the memory of all the nights he wished he were strong enough to kill himself. Schuldig drapes an arm around his shoulders without looking and ruffles his hair. It doesn't feel embarrassing at all this time, just comforting and warm. Schuldig doesn't say anything, out loud or otherwise, and Nagi is grateful for it. He will never have to go back, he thinks. None of them will. He will never have to feign loyalty to people who see him as no more than an explosion trapped within a boy's body. He wonders how Crawford sees him. _He's fond of you_. Huh, Nagi thinks, picturing the night Crawford slapped him. _Hey_ , he hears, silent and amused, _You should have seen me and him the first year we worked together. One or the other of us always had a black eye_. Nagi sighs, a noise that signifies nothing, just an outlet of breath, and lets himself lean against Schuldig's side. He wonders what it will be like to be free.

 

* * *

 

As it turns out, freedom is terrifying. At first Nagi thinks it will be easy, then he sees how scared Crawford is of the Elders, and knows they are risking all on one throw of the dice. Crawford is changing their future, no matter how difficult that might be. When the quake sent against them finally shakes free of Nagi's control it feels at first like flying as all of Schwarz and their enemies plunge into the sea together, thousands of tons of masonry falling around them. Nagi holds tight to the thought that Crawford warned them they'd be in the sea tonight, and pushes all the debris that isn't Schwarz away from him. He comes to weak and vomiting water on the beach, and staggers off obediently when the others beckon. They get all the way back to their apartment before Farfarello gingerly pulls a starfish out of his shirt.

"Gross," Farfarello says, looking disgusted for the first time Nagi can remember.

They spend only an hour in the apartment, enough time to shower and change to clean, dry clothes, and to devour the sandwiches Crawford insisted on making earlier, carefully wrapping them in plastic and putting them in the fridge. Then they pick up ready-packed bags and leave.

Nagi sleeps on the plane, his dreams an uneasy mix of Tot falling, him falling. When he wakes the stewards are handing round snacks as the plane makes its final approach towards Frankfurt. He has slept for over twelve hours and feels he could sleep for another twelve before even the slightest burden of exhaustion begins to lift. His final dream plays over and over behind his eyes, Tot plummeting down into the sea. It's stupid, he tells himself. It didn't happen. Schuldig has promised that she is safe. He forces himself to think of something, anything else, and finally the plane lands. After an interminable wait, they are off the plane and showing their expensive, fake passports to German immigration. Only Nagi's gets more than a cursory look, but he barely has time to think, _Racist_ , before he's waved through. They push through the crowd of people milling around waiting for their luggage, and Nagi feels his bag catch on something. He tugs hard and staggers back as it frees itself from the luggage trolley of the man beside him. The bag rips, and Nagi gasps as the few possessions he brought from Japan spill out beneath people's feet. He barely catches his laptop with his gift, and stands there bereft as people trample his change of clothes and his papers, the torn bag dangling sadly from one hand. His first wave of anger is swallowed up in exhaustion and stress as he looks at the very first thing he ever really owned, damaged beyond repair. People look at him oddly and move away as best they can. It seems no one likes a sobbing teenager.

"Calm _down_ ," Crawford says, jamming Nagi's belongings into a carrier bag. "You're attracting attention." He grabs Nagi's arm and tows him away. Finally, someone official notices as Nagi, still weeping, tries to pull his arm from Crawford's stressed-out grip.

"Are you all right?" a security guard asks. Schuldig shares his suspicions round, a crying Asian boy being dragged away by disreputable older European men.

"I'm fine," Nagi says, hearing how pathetic it sounds. He can hardly say he is crying because he has come full circle and all his belongings are back in a plastic bag. "This is my cousin."

"He's just had a bad flight," Crawford says.

"If we don't hurry we'll miss our connection," Schuldig says, and his accent matches theirs, as Salzburger as can be, though when he isn't pretending to be someone else his German is flat, nasal _Plattdeutsch_.

"Just a moment," the security guard says, "Are you sure you want to go with these men?"

Nagi fishes out his passport and his Austrian identity card. "Yeah, it's OK," he says. "He's my cousin. My mother met my father when she was studying German." He can feel Crawford's irritation at the story handed up too quickly, too much by rote. Crawford takes out his ID card when the man looks expectantly at him. The surnames match; Crawford has long since explained that he's the only one of Schwarz anyone will believe has even the slightest resemblance to Nagi. Nagi can tell he'd rather shoot the man, but they are not Schwarz right now; they are honest, tired people who have no reason to cause even the slightest bit of trouble. Finally they are on their way again, Nagi no longer crying, just feeling wrung out.

"Man, that guy really hates Austrians," Schuldig says jokily, trying to lift Nagi's misery. "Bigot."

"We're still going to Munich, right, not Salzburg?" Farfarello says.

"Fear not, Farf, your destiny lies in beautiful Bavaria," Schuldig grins. Crawford looks at him very oddly, then shakes his head as if he hears an echo and leads them away.

Within a week Rosenkreuz has found them and they are fighting for their lives.

 

* * *

 

There are times Nagi thinks he agrees with Crawford's misogyny, and being chased around the Alps because Farfarello has picked up some girl whom Rosenkreuz wants counts as one of those times. Nagi can't wait to see Farfarello's face when his precious Sally gets killed or taken. As they run and hide, their old instructor Colonel Amlisch on their trail, Nagi's views change. Farfarello watches the girl with bemusement, his expression saying quite clearly he's not sure what's happened to him and he's not sure what he thinks about it. Nagi wonders if he looked at Tot like that. When it comes to a head within Schwarz he wonders if he'd have reacted like Farfarello.

Nagi hears yells, and the sound of blows. He runs into the bathroom and finds Farfarello's girl cowering in the shower, trying to cover herself with a towel. Farfarello dodges Schuldig's kick, and then he has Schuldig on the floor, his hands round his throat.

"Touch her again and I'll fucking kill you!"

Schuldig gasps for air and scrabbles at the tiles as Crawford comes in and pulls at Farfarello's arm. Nagi belatedly uses his gift to separate his fighting teammates, and is glad to be hauled out of the bathroom by Crawford, leaving Farfarello to rave and comfort his girl. Crawford supports Schuldig till he can stand, glaring at him in disgust.

"She's gotta go, Brad," Schuldig says, his voice a dry whisper. "How can you not feel what she is? I can't stop feeling it, it makes me want to puke. Just now I was going to - I wanted to –" He pauses, and glances at Nagi. "She's got to go," he says again.

"I agree," Crawford said. "But look what happened the last time we tried to hand her back."

"Farfarello was right to fight for her," Nagi says, before he knows he'll speak. "He loves her."

"Love," Crawford scoffs. "That's not love. Love is looking after your team." He sounds scornful but the look he sends Schuldig is worried. He squeezes Schuldig's shoulder in a clumsy, embarrassed attempt at comfort.

Nagi waits for Schuldig to joke, to mentally snigger, _Last of the romantics_ , but there is only silence. Schuldig rubs at his throat, and looks worried and, Nagi fancies, a little shamed. _Just guilty as charged_ , Schuldig drops into his mind, _As ever._ He speaks to no one for the rest of the day.

They run and fight and run again. When they can run no more Nagi knows they will die. Farfarello falls, shot, stabbed and screaming under a mental attack. Crawford staggers back as Amlisch shoots him, and then there is only Schuldig left besides him. Amlisch has two telekinetics on his team, and Nagi can't deal with them both at once.

"Schuldig!" he yells as Schuldig goes down under the female TK's assault, then finds himself, off-guard, flung back by the other. Something hard and sharp hits over his kidneys, and he blacks out for a moment from the pain. Lying on the floor, he sees he was thrown against the top corner of a metal cabinet. He gets a knee under him, and almost blacks out again. He expends almost all of his energy using his gift to lift him back to his feet, trying to feel out where the others are so he can help them too. _One chance_ , he thinks, _just one thing to let me think we'll live_.

As unexpected and as welcome as Tot's resurrection, Farfarello climbs wearily to his feet, and pulls the long blade from his side as he faces the enemy once more. He looks _really_ pissed off.

 

* * *

 

It takes weeks before Nagi is as calm as he claims he is. It feels odd to look around and see only Schuldig and Crawford, to think that Farfarello preferred to run with his woman, rather than with them. Nagi feels sorry he's gone, and sorrier he's relieved he's gone. He wakes at night from dreams of Farfarello half-eviscerating the female TK, and then twisting the head off the other as easily as Schuldig wrung the neck of Amlisch's familiar. Often when he wakes he finds either Schuldig or Crawford in the room, standing far enough back not to register as a threat to a panicked TK having nightmares. The apartment has good, solid walls; Nagi refuses to think how much noise he must be making.

"Take this," Crawford says one such time, holding out a pill neatly cut in half.

Nagi squints at it; he knows better than to take something without knowing what it is. "What's it do?"

"It'll send you deep enough not to dream," Crawford says, and as Nagi waits for more, nods approvingly and says, "It blocks visions - for a non-precog with no tolerance built up, it'll knock you out."

"Why would you want to block visions?" Nagi says, holding the little pill between forefinger and thumb.

"It can be useful with a patient who's a precog," Crawford says. "It lets you just concentrate on recuperating. Or if the visions are keeping you up at night, a couple of these let you sleep."

Nagi looks at him. Crawford seems tired, sort of faded round the edges. "Do your visions keep you awake?"

"Sometimes," Crawford says, and holds out a glass of water.

He's never showed vulnerability before; touched, Nagi takes the glass and washes the half-pill down. Crawford takes the glass, and pats Nagi's ankle as he leaves. Nagi's out before the door closes. A few nights later he's glad to see Crawford with the other half of the pill, even though he knows the sleep it will grant him isn't refreshing, and leaves him with almost a much of a hangover as the time Schuldig decided the cure for nightmares was cocktails. Nagi's about to swallow it down when he realizes something.

"Crawford, you're not going to be able to get any more of these, are you?"

Crawford shrugs. "Probably not. It's all right, Nagi. You need it."

Nagi thinks of him talking about what it means to look after his team, and takes the pill, sinking fast into dreamless sleep. The next day he gets up as early as the aftereffects let him and takes stock of things. It's astonishing how late a time he now considers "early" he thinks, seeing the kitchen clock tick towards eight. He makes a pot of coffee, puts on some toast, and has breakfast ready when Schuldig comes into the room.

"Coffee?"

"Thanks."

Schuldig drinks two mugs down one after the other, inhales a piece of toast and grins. "OK, now I'm awake. Coming for a swim?"

Nagi puts the dirty mugs and plates in the dishwasher. "OK," he says. "Just don't try to drown me this morning. My head's killing me."

"No promises," Schuldig says. "See you down there."

Nagi catches sight of himself in the mirror as he changes. Physical disguise doesn't do much when you're running from Eszett and Rosenkreuz, but every little helps. He did as Crawford suggested, and went from hair salon to hair salon, peering in till he found one with a Chinese stylist, someone who'd understand how to work with Asian hair. His only specifications were "bleached as light as possible" and "without turning to straw." The blond streaks and highlights in the resulting light brown and the sharp haircut that still makes him blink at the fashionable boy he sees reflected were all her idea. Crawford came back that same day with his hair cut short and severe, his suit replaced with what Schuldig laughed at as business casual, and no glasses.

"I hate contact lenses," Crawford still grumbles, though not as much as he did for the first few days.

Schuldig has had the least done, and yet seems changed, Nagi thinks. He disappeared for a full day, returning with his hair gone from bright red to a softer, lighter red-gold, and his skin several shades darker. "Just till the natural tan catches up," he said, admiring his flatter, glossier hair in the mirror. He looks like his own brother, Nagi thinks, or a somehow really clean version of himself. Since they got to France they've moved from apartment to apartment, settling finally in a small block in Marseilles. Nagi had rolled his eyes when Schuldig chose it based on the south facing windows and the private pool, but he has to admit they are all looking gradually less harassed, more at ease as Crawford searches around for what they'll do next. A couple of weeks in the sun will do them all good. He goes down to swim, his hair tucked up in a cap so it won't go green in the pool's water, and Schuldig doesn't drown him, just swims lazy laps beside him. Nagi has rarely felt so peaceful in his life. Afterwards they lie on loungers in the sun, listening to the sound of traffic outside and drinking overly warm Coke.

"You should keep up the swimming," Schuldig says, leaning over to brush a fly away from Nagi's arm. "It's doing good things for your shoulders."

Nagi just closes his eyes as Schuldig unceremoniously begins to rub sun cream across the back of his neck, and says nothing in reply. It's more of a compliment than _You're nice_ , which itself felt like a prize when Tot said it, but the warm feeling he has he is sure is just the sun on his skin.

 

* * *

 

"We have a job in Sweden," Crawford says. "We'll be ensuring the safety of a Russian gentleman."

"Oh, how I love organized crime," Schuldig says. "Is he paying in gold or caviar?"

Nagi looks up from his laptop and sees the walls of his home turning into just another place he has to leave. He's sure there won't be a sunny swimming pool and time for sunbathing in Sweden. _Saunas and snow?_ Schuldig says in his mind, and laughs a little at his shiver.

"We leave at the end of the week," Crawford says, and frowns as he half-makes an instinctual movement to push up glasses that aren't there. He has taken to wearing contact lenses all the time to train himself out of such habits, and is irritable that it doesn't seem to be working. "Only bring what's necessary."

The next morning Nagi wakes late to full sunshine streaming in on him. He sits up and dislodges a large white plastic bag from the side of the bed. He pulls it to him with his gift, and opens it. Inside is a holdall identical to his torn one. He takes it out dumbly. For a horrible few seconds he thinks that Schuldig somehow put himself in danger, going back overnight to the train station nearest Rosenkreuz, then his mind starts working and he tells himself it's a cheap piece of shit that must be available in stations all over Europe. He lets his fingers trace over the check pattern, remembering a worried boy with no real possessions of his own, facing an uncertain future, bin bag in hand. He may be about to lose a place that was - for a few short weeks - his home, but he has at last also lost that boy, and finds he doesn't much miss him. He has gained a lot more. He thinks of how he wondered what payment Schuldig would extract for the first holdall, and how no payment has ever been asked for all the goodwill Schuldig has shown him over the years. It is strangely humbling to think he may simply be liked.

"Fighting for your friends is right," Nagi whispers. It's no longer embarrassing to remember saying that. He has friends. He has people who care about him and for whom he feels only goodwill. It's easy enough to pay Crawford back, he's happy as long as Nagi destroys what he wants destroyed. No doubt there'll be something Nagi can tear to shreds to impress the client from the Russian mafia, and Crawford will feel glad to have their worth known. Farfarello, Nagi finds he has completely forgiven. It's probably kinder not to let him know that, should they ever meet again. It's Schuldig, who has time and again gone out of his way for him that he needs to think about. He has always been oddly kind and considerate, and Nagi wants to make him happy. He thinks of Schuldig's easy generosity, and how it feels to play fight with him in the pool. Once Nagi would never have believed he could enjoy the sort of casual physical affection Schuldig bestows on the rest of Schwarz, now he knows he'd miss it if it stopped. If there was anything worthwhile to take from Rosenkreuz, he thinks, it's the lesson that you enjoy what you have while it's there, and don't wait to lose it through inaction. He pushes himself up, brushes his hair flat and goes looking. Schuldig is in the kitchen, humming tunelessly as he peers into his mug, a slice of fruit cake in his other hand.

"'Lo," he says through a mouthful of cake. "Brad's off somewhere, planning our world domination. This is good, want some?"

Nagi shakes his head. "Thanks for the bag."

"No problem."

"We're not going to have a nice place to ourselves with this Russian guy," Nagi says, looking round.

"Homesick already?"

"It's just - we're not going to have this time again, are we?"

Schuldig looks sympathetic. "No, I guess not. We'll have to insist on regular days off, huh?"

Nagi takes a deep breath. "We have now though - would you like to go to bed with me?"

Schuldig coughs on his cake, spattering crumbs and going an alarming shade of purple. Nagi thumps him on the back, which doesn't seem to help all that much, especially when he sees that Schuldig is laughing.

"Jesus," Schuldig wheezes at last, cautiously sipping his coffee. "You got me. Good one, Nagi."

"No, I mean it," Nagi says, thinking clear and direct about Schuldig being nice to him, how it was to find the bag and - not too much of an afterthought, he hopes - how pleasant a sight Schuldig is in the pool. He wishes Schuldig would stop sniggering.

"A simple 'thanks' for the bag is enough," Schuldig giggles. "Man, what would you offer me if I'd got you something big?"

He's about to expound on this theme, Nagi sees. It's suddenly hurtful, when all he wanted was sunshine and peace, and for his friend to be happy.

"Yeah, well forget about it," he mutters, and turns away. Something hits his head a moment later. He turns in astonishment to see Schuldig scrunching another piece of foil into a ball. "What the hell?" Nagi says, and doesn't think to deflect it till it bounces off his head. "You stop that," he says as Schuldig tears off a really big piece of foil.

"Why? Is it silly? Sillier than your offer?"

"Just quit it," Nagi says, feeling his incipient smile die away.

"C'mon, Nagi, laugh. I'm not making fun of you," Schuldig grins. "Or well, I am, but you should still laugh."

"Yeah, like you'll laugh when I bounce the goddamn table off your head," Nagi says sulkily. Christ, he thinks, Schuldig's _still_ laughing at him. Some fucking friend.

Schuldig comes closer, tossing the ball of foil from hand to hand. "C'mere," he says, throwing it, and while Nagi's momentarily distracted in batting it away with a force that flattens it against the far wall, Schuldig steps in close. "Not so good if this was a fight," he says, and slides his arms around Nagi as he leans in and kisses him.

It's smoother and a hell of a lot more assured than the previous time Nagi found himself being kissed, and Schuldig is a lot less ladylike with his tongue than Tot and, all things considered, Nagi thinks dizzily as he finds himself leaning heavily on Schuldig, if at the time he'd thought Tot was at least a seven out of ten, then

_Will you_ please _stop comparing me to her?_

Nagi manages to stop the mental running commentary and finds himself grinning foolishly up at Schuldig as Schuldig breaks the kiss and quirks a smile at him.

"Friendly enough for you?" Schuldig says, cheerfully evil, and, then with no smile at all kisses Nagi again hard enough to make Nagi feel the first one probably should count as a peck on the cheek. When Schuldig pulls back Nagi tries to hold on to him with both his hands and his gift, and it's only when he sees he's not being pushed away that he releases his tight grip. "That was nice, huh?" Schuldig says. "I'm not teasing you," he adds. "It _was_ nice, I _do_ like you, I _am_ your friend, and I think," he says, "You're not really sure what you're offering."

"Something simple, like someone you'd meet in a club?" Nagi says, still feeling Schuldig's mouth on his and thinking he's now very sure indeed what he wants.

"Oh, please. I never have to see those people again - I have to work with you. I _want_ to work with you. And you're seven years younger than me and I find I do have some shame."

"My birthday's in six weeks and then you could tell yourself for months that there's only a six year difference," Nagi said, glad to feel Schuldig laugh.

"Clever boy," Schuldig says. He smooths Nagi's hair down. "You don't have to prove anything to me, you owe me _nothing_. You don't need to offer me favours to be your friend and you don't need to pay Brad or me back for anything at all - don't think like those Rosenkreuz bastards. None of us are ever going back there."

"Ok," Nagi says as Schuldig lets him go. He tries to think of an approach that would garner only blank stares in Rosenkreuz. "You want to go out with me for a coffee some time?"

"And get to know each other?" Schuldig says. He's not laughing, though maybe that's through sheer force of will.

"Yeah. Maybe in Sweden."

"Maybe. In Sweden. You can think what you'd like for your birthday and how you're going to persuade me to do it."

"I'm persuasive," Nagi says, and saunters out of the room, feeling light.

_Keep swimming. I like what it's doing for your shoulders._

Nagi keeps the grin off his face till he is in his room and packing only the barest essentials into the new holdall. Freedom, he thinks, is feeling better and better.

 


End file.
